Moments: a Story Told in Drabbles
by idreamofdraco
Summary: Draco and Ginny overcome the effects of war one moment at a time. A series of connected drabbles. EWE. An ongoing response to the 100 Days, 100 Drabbles challenge on the DG Forum.
1. New

_June 20, 2010_  
_Blanket disclaimer for all chapters: Harry Potter and all related characters, settings, and terminology belong to J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from these drabbles.  
Note: This first drabble, not including everything above this line, is 398 words long. Written for the 100 Days, 100 Drabbles challenge on the DG Forum. None of these drabbles will be beta'd.  
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Eyes stared as the couple walked into the Great Hall. Mouths fell open. Whispers floated between tables. The sight could not be believed.

The day of Albus Dumbledore's funeral seemed to inspire lunacy. With Dumbledore gone, anything could happen. Not just concerning Voldemort. _Anything_. This display in the center of the Great Hall was just the start of it.

Ron lifted his head up from his breakfast, which he picked at with uncharacteristic disinterest, and was immediately assaulted by the sight of Luna Lovegood and Blaise Zabini holding hands.

_Holding hands!_ What had the world come to? It truly was a dark world indeed if someone as oblivious but kind as Luna could willingly hold hands with a sneaky Slytherin like Blaise. Ron's eyes became part of the sea of others that followed the couple, watching to see where they would go. When Blaise sat down at the Slytherin table and Luna joined him, a collective gasp swept through the room.

"_Ginny!_ Are you seeing this?" Ron asked, smacking his sister on the arm to get her attention.

"Ow! What do you want?" Before he could answer, her eyes were drawn in the direction everyone was staring. Luna, sitting next to Blaise, lifted a miniature blueberry muffin to his mouth for him to take a bite. With the skill of a true Slytherin, Blaise smirked and chewed at the same time.

"Oh. Well, that's new."

"That's all you've got to say about this!" Ron shrieked. The silence of the Great Hall had been broken by the blueberry muffin; Ron's voice didn't carry over the sudden breakout of speculative conversations.

"I think there are more important things happening today, and you're acting like an idiot," Ginny said.

Insulted, and unwilling to admit she was right, Ron turned to Hermione on his other side and ignored his sister for the rest of the meal.

Ginny had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. She reached for Harry's hand on her left and squeezed it. His eyes met hers, but there was something in them that she didn't like, so she turned back to look at Luna and Blaise.

On the day of Dumbledore's funeral, the day that all the students would be leaving Hogwarts, not knowing if they would ever be able to return, someone was happy.

It truly was a new world.


	2. Broken

_June 21, 2010  
400 words exactly, according to OpenOffice word count.  


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"Hush!" his father commanded, breaking the silence of Draco's empty room, even though he was the only person making a sound. Draco felt a pang of annoyance that he was being quieted as a child would. He couldn't believe how much it hurt to not be seen as an adult, after all he'd been through. Hadn't he proved himself to his father yet?

Of course not. He'd failed, and the result was all that mattered. Certainly not the attempt.

As Lucius paced next to the bed, Draco watched him, his hurt turning into curiosity, his annoyance to fear.

"The Dark Lord is coming to the manor," his father finally said, giving him a long, hard stare that conveyed how imperative it was that Draco listened well. "He'll want to speak to you, of course. And to Severus. You must tell him the absolute truth, always! Don't you dare use your Occlumency against him."

"W—when?" Draco stuttered, hating how his trembling broke the word in two.

Lucius was already sweeping towards the door. "Soon," he said, before leaving his son alone, the room silent but the silence somehow shattered.

If Draco hadn't already been sitting, his legs would have failed him. His head dropped into his shaking hands. He pressed his palms into his eyes.

He wasn't ready. What would happen to him? What would happen to his family? He had failed. Snape had succeeded where Draco should have, and that would reap punishment, he knew.

The glory he had sought would be denied him. The safety of his family, which he had hoped to guarantee, was now uncertain.

The tattoo branded onto his arm suddenly burned red hot, causing Draco's despair to splinter and fall away. Using his Occlumency, he cleared his mind, separating his emotions from his thoughts.

Emotions were too honest.

Anguish would not convince the Dark Lord to let his family live. Fear would not prove which side he truly fought for. Regret would not bring a dead man back to life.

So Draco broke himself into two pieces, and hid the truest part of his being into the recesses of his soul, where the Dark Lord would not be able to find it. He hid it there, not knowing when he would be able to put himself back together again.

Then he marched out of his room to face his master.


	3. Hope

_June 22, 2010  
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count.

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_Narcissa hadn't been this teary-eyed on the first of September since Draco had left to start his first year at Hogwarts six years ago.

So much had changed since then.

The round-faced boy of eleven, who had boarded the Hogwarts Express with poorly concealed excitement, had become a man of only seventeen years, the horrors of the past year permanently etched onto his face, just like the Dark Mark was etched onto his arm.

She blinked away her tears, knowing how they upset Draco, but couldn't stop herself from wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. She was surprised, but pleased, when his arms slowly encircled her back and then tightened their grip as if afraid to let go. As she patted his back, she could feel the bones of his spine through his robes and another pain shot through her.

She was losing her child. The Dark Lord had taken him from her, turning him from an innocent boy to an attempted murderer, and she was afraid that if he continued on the path he was on, he wouldn't survive the year.

"Don't forget to eat, darling," Narcissa said as she pulled away.

"Of course, Mother," he replied. His eyes didn't meet hers, but, then again, she couldn't remember the last time he'd looked anyone in the eyes.

While he left to put his trunk onto the train, Narcissa tried to compose herself. No one else need see her tears. She had to be strong for their family because Lucius was not there at her side to offer some of his strength. He had been confined to the manor, and it was only the Dark Lord's benevolence that had allowed Narcissa to accompany Draco to the train. She was grateful, of course, but indignant that she had had to beg someone else for permission to see her son off to school.

She was frightened because she didn't know what she would do with him gone.

But Hogwarts was Draco's only hope, and so it was also Narcissa's. Over the summer, she had watched how he had changed, watched him as he lost weight and animation, watched as the lines of worry and stress spread across his face like cracks in broken glass. He needed to be away from the manor and the Dark Lord's dealings there.

He would be safe at Hogwarts.

She hoped.


	4. Quills

_June 23, 2010  
400 words exactly, according to OpenOffice word count.

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He watched her storm into the library and throw her bag down next to Lovegood, the clatter summoning Madam Pince over with a warning glare. Making a great show of being silent to send the strict librarian away, she settled down at the table, laying her forehead on the cool wood and sighing in exasperation.

"I've got detention," she said.

"Again?" Lovegood replied, no tone of surprise in her voice at all.

"I didn't have a damn quill in class and when I asked to borrow one from someone, Carrow gave me detention."

Lovegood set down the book she had been holding to her nose. "Do you need to borrow a quill?"

"Ah, that would be lovely. We... um... we didn't get a chance to go to Diagon Alley this year. Fred and George bought all my school books for me, but I've got no quills or parchment." Her voice, grim and embarrassed, had lowered to a near whisper, but Draco had heard every word.

After she accepted a quill and some parchment from Lovegood with a soft thank you, Weasley stood from the table to search the shelves for books. At this point, he finally got a good look at her face and his stomach dropped at what he saw.

Her lip had been split and she was sporting a black eye. He wondered how many times she had been in detention since school had begun a week ago, and also how she had survived this long without any supplies.

What had they _done_ to her? Draco was familiar with the Carrows' reputation. They liked inflicting pain on others—no... they _enjoyed _it. They especially enjoyed forcing people to inflict pain on others. Draco had heard that in their detentions, students cast Unforgiveable and dark curses on each other as punishment. He wondered which role Weasley had played in her detentions—whether victim or attacker—or if she had played both.

It sickened him.

That night, he did something against his better judgment. He knew the post was being monitored, so, using nondescript brown paper, he wrapped up some parchment and a set of quills Weasley would never have been able to afford, and sent them to her anonymously on a school owl.

At breakfast the next morning, the owl returned to him carrying a small card with _Thanks_ written on it in neat, slightly loopy handwriting.


	5. Doorway

_June 24, 2010  
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count. I'm not overly fond of this one. :/_

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Ginny stormed out of the Dark Arts classroom, another unearned detention under her belt. She'd been back at Hogwarts two months, and she received detention at least three times a week, for any indiscretion. If one of her quills—her beautiful quills from her anonymous benefactor—scratched across her parchment too loudly, or if she rolled her eyes and one of the Carrows saw, she was punished for it. She'd just received another detention, this time for arriving to class early.

As she passed through the doorway, another body knocked into her, the rather rude person not even stopping to apologize. In an ill humor, she turned around to see who was asking to get their teeth punched in, but froze as Malfoy gave her an ugly glare.

"Watch it," she warned him, before stomping off to her next class.

It was the strangest thing, but after that day, they passed each other in the doorway of all her classes. It seemed as if he always had the same class either the period before or after hers, and as she entered or left her classrooms, he was leaving or entering at the same time.

Ginny wasn't sure why this was significant to her, but, suddenly, she _noticed_ him, and it seemed like they were always running into each other. He never said a word to her, nor she to him, but seeing him as often as she did made her curious. She'd barely spared Malfoy a second thought since the night of Dumbledore's death. Harry had seemed convinced that he would not have followed through with killing the headmaster, and Ginny had quietly agreed with him.

Call it naivete, but she had been unwilling to believe that Malfoy was a Death Eater just because Harry had thought so, and she was also unwilling to believe that he could possibly kill someone. He had been sixteen years old at the time, the same age as Ginny now. Who could possibly commit_ murder_ at their age?

So every time she saw Malfoy, whether in the corridors, or at meals, or while switching classes, she regarded him with curiosity, wondering what had led him to try to kill Albus Dumbledore, wondering exactly _who_ Draco Malfoy was, and whether there was a good person buried deep down inside his cold shell.

Because every doorway they met in, his face was a strange impassive mask.


	6. Breathless

_June 25, 2010  
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count. This one was originally written for Doorway, but I'm lazy so I fixed it up a little for Breathless. u_u

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She raced through the dungeons, heedless of the possibility of running into a prefect or a teacher at this time of night. The last thing she needed was to be given another detention only minutes after leaving one. Her body ached with the aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse, but her fury drove her, keeping her from collapsing in a lifeless heap on the floor.

The sound of voices slowed her down, and even though it was _not _a good idea, Ginny searched for the source of them. A door, just a little ahead of her, stood slightly ajar. The voices came from within the room.

Her aching body begged her to go back to Gryffindor tower as quickly as possible, but she ignored her own inflamed limbs. She crouched down in the doorway, hopefully making her less noticeable, and poked her head through to catch a glimpse of what was going on. For a few moments, she could see nothing in the darkness of the old classroom, but then her eyes caught movement, silhouettes outlined by the moon's light shining in through the windows.

A female voice pierced the silence. "We would be so good together, you and me." Parkinson's voice.

With the moonlight lighting them up from behind, Ginny saw Parkinson's silhouette move closer to the other and then meet as if they had entwined. Her partner appeared to be sitting while she straddled his lap and loomed over him. His hair caught and reflected the light from the moon, shining with radiant whiteness. The very obvious sound of snogging followed, but Ginny couldn't seem to look away.

She held her breath. That hair... If she didn't know better she would think...

He sat there and took what Parkinson did to him, but his hands didn't reach up to embrace her. As she began to kiss her way down his neck, his head turned to the side, and his gaze drilled straight into Ginny's eyes, piercing her with its dullness.

Malfoy.

"Stop it, Pansy," he growled suddenly, his words louder than those that had passed before. He shoved Parkinson off his lap and stood up as if to leave.

Ginny fled the doorway, embarrassed she might have been caught watching something extremely private, nervous of the consequences, and completely unable to breathe. The look in Malfoy's eyes haunted her all the way back to Gryffindor tower.


	7. Pain

_June 26, 2010  
400 words, according to OpenOffice word count.

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Clutching her side, she slid to the floor, panting, her breaths spreading through her chest like fire.

Nothing mattered anymore. It truly didn't. Who cared about marks and school and following the rules when life was full of injustice? Who was going to fight the terror? Harry Potter? He wasn't at Hogwarts; he didn't have to deal with Snape or the Carrows on a daily basis. No one even knew where he was.

Ginny would fight it. She already got more detentions than she deserved, despite trying to fly under the radar. Well, who needed that? If she was going to be punished for her actions, she was going to_ earn _her punishments.

At the moment though, the spasms of pain shooting through her body were unbearable, and she was having a hard time breathing, let alone sneaking around the school sabotaging Death Eater plans.

"What are you doing here?"

It didn't even surprise her to see Malfoy standing in front of her, eying her cautiously. Ha! What did he have to be cautious of? He was the Death Eater. She couldn't even stand. The look in his eyes the night she had seen him with Pansy floated in her head. Anyone capable of making a face like that couldn't possibly be feared. It was a look of utter defeat, as if nothing mattered to him anymore either.

He crouched down next to her, his face undefinable in its neutrality.

"Where does it hurt?"

The question unlocked something in her, but not her speech. She shook her head, her eyes suddenly stinging and her throat tight.

He moved to put his hand on her arm, but it floated there in the air above it tentatively. Ginny watched his face; it looked less impassive, she thought. The corners of his mouth were slightly turned down, as if in disapproval.

Gritting his teeth, he scooped his arms behind her knees and her back, lifting her to his chest with a grunt. She clenched a handful of his robes in her fist, tugging weakly for him to put her down, to leave her alone, to find someone else to torment.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, "We're going to the hospital wing."

Her body relaxed in relief, but her resolve continued to burn. She would stop what was going on here at Hogwarts. The pain would be worth it.


	8. Test

_June 27, 2010_  
_399 words, according to OpenOffice word count.

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_Fruits sleep before midnight._

Blaise knew it was a code, one devised by himself and adopted by Luna with the eagerness of a child playing a game. However, this wasn't a game. This note was no laughing matter.

Since they had returned to school, he had hardly seen Luna at all. It was too difficult to meet when she and her friends were pissing off Death Eaters as he tried to stay neutral in all the skirmishes.

He knew that she was uncertain about his neutrality, even if she never voiced it. She may have appeared oblivious, floating around in her own little world, unconcerned by others' doings, but he knew her better.

This note was a test, just like the one she'd given him the night Dumbledore died. In the face of the headmaster's death, she'd been testing him to see where his loyalties lie.

"_Will you hold my hand in the middle of the Great Hall?"_

"_Now?"_

"_No, silly. Tomorrow, before the funeral."_

He hadn't known what to say, but he couldn't deny her. Besides, he'd quite enjoyed all the attention on them that morning.

What was she testing him about now?

When he arrived at the portrait of the bowl of fruit at five 'til midnight, she was already there, her hair hanging below her waist, curling weakly. There were dark circles under her eyes and worried lines around her mouth. He'd only been able to catch glimpses of her in so long, he was surprised by how _old_ she seemed to have gotten. Why did she have to battle against Snape and the Carrows? Staying out of the fighting, laying low... that's how people stayed alive.

That's how he intended to stay alive. But what was the point if she didn't survive with him?

When she saw him, she took his hand and smiled, smoothing away the wrinkles of stress on her face.

"What do the poor have that the rich need? What's the difference between you and me? What's more important than holding my hand, a kiss on my lips, or—"

"Nothing," he answered. Of course that was the answer. He didn't care anything about this war except coming out of it alive with her.

Luna's lips spread into a smile as she reached up on her toes to kiss him.

"You passed," she said against his lips.


	9. Drink

_June 28, 2010  
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count.

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"Draco! A drink!"

A glass of wine was shoved into Draco's hand, which he accepted as carefully as he would have a dungbomb. Around him, his housemates celebrated Christmas raucously, alcohol from who knew where flowing freely, loosening the inhibitions of the uptight Slytherins. Pansy glared at him from across the common room, the expression on her face bitter and hateful. She hadn't forgiven him for rejecting her those months ago, and he hadn't brought himself to care.

He wandered around the room in an aimless fashion, until he reached the exit to the dungeons. No one noticed him as he slipped out.

His thoughts kept drifting back to Blaise and the position he had found him in only two nights previously. Draco hadn't known that Blaise was dating Luna Lovegood until he stumbled upon them snogging in the middle of a corridor on one of his nightly walks. Luckily, he hadn't been seen, but since then he hadn't quite been able to look at him in the same way.

Honestly though..._ Lovegood_? When had _that_ begun?

"Can I join you?"

Pulled away from his thoughts, Draco saw the Weasley girl in front of him nervously scratching her arm. He'd met her on more than one occasion coming back from detention, and sometimes he'd had to help her back to her common room.

He didn't know why he did it. Maybe he was tired of the way things were done, tired of watching people get manipulated and hurt. She was the only one trying to do anything about it, fool that she was. Maybe he respected her for it. Just a little.

He nodded, and she moved into step with him.

All the times he'd helped her made her somewhat friendly towards him. It was a bit of a relief to be smiled at genuinely, when most of the people in his life were waiting to see him fall. They weren't friends... not exactly... There really wasn't a name for what they were to each other.

"Is that wine?" she asked, nodding toward the glass he still held.

"Do you want it?" He offered the glass out to her.

She gave him a hard look before grabbing his hand and pulling him into an abandoned classroom where they took turns drinking from the goblet until the alcohol was gone.

They didn't come out until morning.


	10. Anger

_June 29, 2010_  
_400 words, according to OpenOffice word count._  
_Mild warning for language._

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"_Where the hell is she, Malfoy!"_

Draco was shoved against a wall, the arm across his throat choking him, but the anger in Blaise Zabini's eyes kept him from fighting back.

"What... are... you talking... about?" he replied, gasping for breath between words.

Blaise increased the pressure on his throat, causing Draco to gag, and with grit teeth answered, "I asked Ginny if she'd seen Luna, and she said that she'd been taken off the train before they ever reached King's Cross! _Your aunt_ kidnapped her!"

The blond began to struggle against his attacker, his hands scrabbling at the arm pinning him to the wall and cutting off his air. Blaise pushed away from him, a look of disgust on his face. Draco wondered when he and Weasley had gotten on a first name basis.

"You have to know where she is!"

"Why?" Draco spat, a sneer coming to his lips. "Because I'm a Death Eater? Don't you dare think you're so righteous just because you don't have a Mark!"

"At least I'm not fucking kidnapping or killing people!" Blaise said as he slammed Draco against the wall again.

As his anger escalated, he pushed Blaise away from him shouting, "I've never killed anyone!"

"Not for lack of trying!"

Wands were drawn and pointed in each other's faces.

"But. I. Didn't," Draco growled. The wand pointed at his eye sparked with the force of Blaise's fury, causing him to flinch in response. "Until you pick a side, you can't look down on me for what I was forced to do!"

Blaise released a harsh breath and lowered his wand, Draco following his example.

"I don't even want to know about it."

"_Good._ I wasn't going to explain myself to _you._"

As they put their wands away, he tried to put himself in Blaise's shoes. Would Draco have behaved the same way if it had been Weasley taken off the train? No, of course not. But even as he thought that, his stomach suddenly felt empty and heavy with dread. He realized that he did fear for her safety. The fool.

"She's in our cellar, but she's fine. I've seen her. Don't worry."

"Don't worry?" Blaise said, his expression thoroughly disapproving. "You're a right bastard, you know that?"

"So I've been told," Draco replied.


	11. Dreams

_July 2, 2010  
397 words, according to OpenOffice word count.  
**WARNING** for smutty nature of this drabble, in case you don't like that sort of thing._

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Before tonight, Draco hadn't thought about his favorite color before, but if he had to pick one, he thought he'd choose red. Red was the color of her anger, of the fire in her spirit, of her blush of embarrassment. Red was her flushed skin, her rosy nipples, her hair spread out across his pillow.

Red was Ginny Weasley.

He'd never loved a color more than when he was with her.

As her fingers brushed lightly against his nipple, he gasped harshly, unable to keep his breathing steady. She grinned down at him, her eyes bright with mischief.

Grabbing her around the waist, he flipped them over so that he was on top now, and lodged a knee between her thighs. Her fingernails dug into his arm as she sighed and parted her legs for him, her eyes fluttering closed. He placed a soft kiss on her neck, following it with a trail of others down to her breasts. With a groan, her back arched, giving him better access to taste the freckles sprinkled across her chest.

His whole body burned for more. Their skin was hot and damp with perspiration, but the _heat_, that red hot heat, drove him mad.

He claimed her lips in a searing kiss that swallowed her groans. At the same time, the muscles in his stomach clenched as he positioned his turgid length at her entrance. She raised her hips, bringing her legs behind his back and locking them together at the ankles.

"_Draco..."_

He needed no further encouragement. Taking a deep breath, he plunged in, both of their bodies tensing, twin moans ripped from their lips.

His moan, louder than he'd thought it would be, tore him from his dream to his dark room in the Slytherin dormitories, tangled in his bedsheets, his body burning with the heat. He hoped his roommates were too taken with sleep to have heard him, and slammed a fist into his pillow.

Of course it had been a dream. Draco hadn't spoken to Ginny since the night they'd spent in an abandoned classroom drinking his forgotten glass of wine. They'd done nothing but talk, and then sleep in each other's arms. Why hadn't he kissed her when he'd had the chance? Like Blaise, Ginny had avoided him since returning from the Christmas holiday.

Frustrated, Draco returned to his fitful sleep, dreaming of red.


	12. Puzzle

_July 3, 2010  
400 words, according to OpenOffice word count.

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Ginny didn't know what the right thing to do was. It used to be so easy—seeing the good from the bad, avoiding the bad and doing the good—but in Draco's case, nothing was easy.

He puzzled her.

Over the past few months, she'd gotten to know him a bit. There was something kind in him somewhere, or else he would never have helped her those times that he had. Why had he done that though? He'd never shown kindness to her before. Not to any Gryffindor she had seen, not to anyone. So why her? He was a Death Eater just like the Carrows and Snape. She'd seen his Mark for herself. And yet... he wasn't anything like them. If she needed help, he would pick her up after her detentions and carry her back to Gryffindor tower or the hospital wing, otherwise he'd walk by her side and just talk to her.

The last night she'd been with him, the night they'd spent in an abandoned classroom drinking wine, all they had done was talk. She remembered wishing he would do more. She still regretted not kissing him, at least, and that regret conflicted with what she was doing now.

Because even though he had been so kind to her, even though she had learned how much his family meant to him, how much he loathed the Carrows as much as her, he was still a Death Eater, and his aunt had still kidnapped Luna off the Hogwarts Express. That was something about him that would not change, and that was a part of him she wanted nothing to do with.

Blaise had told her that Draco had admitted Luna was in his cellar, but had he done anything about it? No. He hadn't. Ginny didn't know what they were doing to Luna there, what they were going to do with her, and as long as she didn't know Luna's fate, she couldn't look Draco in the eye.

So she had avoided him since she'd returned from Hogwarts. He'd tried to help her after some of her detentions but after ignoring his offer of support, he'd stopped looking for her. She no longer met him in the doorways of her classrooms, or sought him out for clandestine walks around the castle at night.

With an annoying but awful ache, she missed him. Despite the Dark Mark on his arm.


	13. Discrepant

_July 5, 2010  
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count.  
I hate words I don't know how to use.

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Draco knew what she was doing, and he resented her for it. He'd thought they had formed a friendship of sorts. No, not a friendship—an understanding. Forget family disputes. Forget House rivalries. They had one thing in common: complete distaste for the direction in which the war had turned. That simple, unifying point overshadowed everything they had disliked about each other, because she looked and talked to him as if he didn't have a Dark Mark burned onto his flesh, and he looked and talked to her as if her family hadn't been fighting against his.

Apparently, they had placed discrepant importance on this understanding.

To Draco, it meant everything. Information traveled fast at Hogwarts, even when avenues such as the post were being monitored. Many people, if not most, knew that Dumbledore was dead because of Draco. He could _feel_ their knowing on him physically, like bullets piercing his skin as he walked down the corridor or into the Great Hall.

But she didn't look at him that way. Not anymore. He'd shown her that the past didn't matter, that he was willing to go against his role in life to help her if she needed it. In the process, he had learned how much he needed her.

She treated their relationship, their understanding, like a fake wand. To her, it was a flimsy piece of wood that was fun to play with until she broke it and threw it away. Maybe she _had_ managed to forget about the Dark Mark on his arm, but once she was reminded of the deeds that were done in its honor—once one of the deeds hit closer to home than she'd have liked—she completely forgot about everything _he_ had done against it.

Instead of staying with him, she had thrown him away. He wasn't worthy enough for her. Not Gryffindor enough. No, he wasn't a damn Gryffindor, and he wasn't sorry for it!

He _was_ rather sorry for her closed-mindedness because, as the weeks passed, he came to realize that she meant a lot to him. Her rejection of his help and company stung more than he cared to admit. Too embarrassed by his hurt, he'd not sought her out again. She could find her own way back to Gryffindor tower after her detentions! She obviously didn't need him.

He did rather miss her though. Even though she was a fool.


	14. Holiday

_July 7, 2010  
396 words, according to OpenOffice word count.

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_This is not how Draco had wanted to spend his Easter holiday.

He'd been looking forward to a relaxing weekend at home, with his mother fussing over him and house-elves to boss around. How could he have thought home would be a relaxing place? Since the Dark Lord had made Malfoy Manor the Death Eater headquarters, his whole family had been nothing but on edge, and who could relax in an environment like that?

Even worse, Potter, Granger, and Weasley (Ronald, not Ginevra) were tied up in the drawing room, together with some other riff raff the Snatchers had caught.

Draco understood his father's excitement. He knew what this capture would mean for his family. Even so, he had felt nothing but ill since his mother had summoned him to identify Potter. Granger was easy to recognize, and the red-headed oaf next to her could be no one but Weasley, even as blood gushed from his nose, but Potter was harder. With his face round, swollen and pink, Draco couldn't be sure it actually _was_ him. Instead of looking closer, studying harder, to know for sure, he averted his eyes. Despite his hate for all three of them, he didn't want to be their executioner.

Ginny's face floated in his mind. What would she think of him if she found out he had been the one to turn her classmates in to the Dark Lord? Her ex-boyfriend? Her _brother?_

Part of him told him to forget what she thought. She'd obviously created her own opinion, and wasn't about to change it. All he'd be doing was living up to what she already falsely thought of him.

Another part strove to be what she wanted, even if it was impossible, even if the man she wanted him to be didn't exist.

So he didn't look very hard, and he faked his uncertainty about their identities. Less than an hour later, the three escaped, and took with them Draco's wand. When the cellar was checked, the prisoners were gone, including Luna Lovegood.

Draco's chest felt hollow, but his heart pounded with relief.

Relief that they'd all escaped.

Relief that he hadn't caused their deaths.

Just relief.

Ginny might never know what he had done for her, or she may look past it as if it were nothing, but Draco's own conscience was clear.

He was not a murderer.


	15. Mirror

_July 10, 2010  
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count.

* * *

_

In the center of the room in which Ginny found herself sat a rather plain floor-length mirror. (At least, she assumed she was in a room. A white expanse extended as far as she could see, no walls or end in sight.) There was nothing remarkable about it—it didn't even have a frame—but she knew, with a certainty that only existed in dreams, that she had to look into it.

She approached the mirror, watching as her reflection grew larger and a figure reflected behind her became more distinct. Only when she stood right in front of it did she recognize the other person.

"Luna!" she cried, spinning around to greet the friend she hadn't seen since before Christmas, but no one was behind her. Disturbed by this, she turned back to the mirror from which Luna waved and smiled blithely. Ginny frowned in consternation.

"I don't understand," she said to Luna's reflection. "How can you care for someone not on our side?"

Luna's smile softened. "Easy. Blaise says I'm more important to him than anything else. He puts me above petty things like war. How could I _not_ care for him?"

Ginny felt a stab in her chest. Had she behaved pettily? No, no. She was being sensible. Practical. Defending her heart from heartbreak.

"How do you know he isn't lying?" she asked.

Luna began to rock on her feet, her eyes staring not at Ginny but at something above her.

"His actions speak for him. I look at what he's done, and I remember the things he _hasn't_ done."

Another stab.

"Don't be silly," she whispered to her heart. "He didn't help Luna. He was wrong."

"He also didn't kill Professor Dumbledore," Luna chipped in, "kidnap me, or hurt you."

Ginny turned her head back up to the mirror, a glare aimed for Luna, but the girl's reflection was gone. In her place stood Draco Malfoy looking anxious, his white-blond hair shining almost brighter than the white expanse around Ginny and the mirror.

Her heart thumped, traitorous, honest thing that it was. She felt an aching in her chest—like she had been missing something all this time and only just now noticed.

"I would never hurt you," he said.

She reached up to touch his reflection, but he disappeared, leaving Ginny to stare only at herself.


	16. Seeking Peace

_July 16, 2010  
396 words, according to OpenOffice word count.  
I twisted the idea of the prompt a little.

* * *

_

It all came down to this, to tonight. Win or lose, it would all be over. That feeling was just in the air. Ginny stared at Harry, all the old feelings washing over her, but she couldn't forget how he had shunted her aside in the name of safety. As people rallied for battle, she knew he had done the right thing when he'd broken up with her at Dumbledore's funeral. She remembered the bad feeling she had had that morning and realized that even then she had known what was coming.

Angry and outraged, she watched everyone leave the Room of Requirement. Harry hadn't even stood up for her. Just like one year ago, he didn't believe she could take care of herself. How could he push her aside again? How could everyone—Harry, her parents, her brothers—treat her like a child, like someone needing protection?

Where had they been when she was being tortured in detention? Where was her protection then? Why had no one tried to keep her safe? She had done nothing but fight and suffer all year, but apparently she had proved nothing.

Draco wouldn't have held her back. He would have let her fight and then called her a fool as he carried her to the hospital wing. Her outrage ceased at the thought of him. It had been so long since he had crossed her mind. Was he still here at Hogwarts, she wondered? Would he be fighting in the upcoming battle? On which side would he stand? She pushed the thoughts away. She didn't need the distraction.

Ginny refused to sit back and let others fight for her, when she was certainly capable enough to fight for herself.

It hadn't been a good idea for Harry and her mum to leave her in the Room of Requirement unsupervised. She slipped out the door as soon as the corridor had been vacated. Everything fell on today. Now Ginny knew for certain that her relationship with Harry was over. Today the war would end as well. It was a day for making peace, whether with the past or for the future. And now that her past had been dealt with, she thought about her future.

Suddenly, she knew what she must do. Draco had to be in the castle somewhere, and when the fighting ended, she was determined to find him.


	17. Questioning

_July 16, 2010  
400 words, according to OpenOffice word count.

* * *

_

_Why?_

It was a question that Ginny asked herself a lot lately. Why? Why Fred? Why do people die? Why should people live? Why, why, why?

The stupid question had no answer.

She stared out her window and wiped away a tear, the light from the moon illuminating her dark bedroom. She should have been celebrating. In fact, plenty of people were—the whole country, in fact. The fall of You-Know-Who, the end of a war... those should have been things to celebrate, but her family was still suffering, still grieving, still _questioning_. Why?

Silhouetted by the moon, Ginny spotted an owl flying in the distance. She startled away from the window as it drew closer, wondering who could possibly be sending post at this time of the night. Part of her wanted to tear the letter up without reading it. Surely it would contain well-meant but unwanted condolences?

The owl that flew through the window was familiar to her somehow. It landed on her bedpost and held out its leg impatiently, looking quite haughty as well. Suddenly she recognized it as the owl that had delivered to her those beautiful quills at the beginning of the school year, and she rushed to see what the letter said.

_How are you?_

She was somewhat disappointed, especially that there was no signature, but she searched through her school trunk for one of her quills to respond back anyway.

_Oh, just brilliant. How are you?_

She waited anxiously for a reply, pacing around her room and lounging on her bed to pass time. Mad. She didn't even know how far the owl had to fly to deliver the letter. She could be waiting until sunrise.

Nearly, but not quite.

With an impatient huff, she ripped open the reply, her heart hammering.

_Are you really? _it said.

Her blood boiled reading those words, as if they knew her better than she did, as if accusing her of... of lying or something! She snatched her quill back up and nearly ripped the parchment with the nub in the force of her anger.

_Of course I am! Who is this?_

She waited even longer for the owl to return. By the time it did, a rooster had started to crow out in the yard and the sun had risen above the horizon.

_Just a friend._

Ginny wasn't sure why this made her break down in tears.


	18. Red

_July 20, 2010  
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count.  
Warning for mild language._

_

* * *

_

Draco's dreams of the color red had turned into nightmares.

Instead of dreaming of Ginny's blushes, he saw rivers of blood flowing through the corridors he used to walk on a daily basis. In place of the fire in her eyes, a monstrous flaming beast attacked and devoured people whole. Rather than her copper hair fanned out on his pillow, a group of like-headed people surrounded the lifeless body of a fallen brother and son. If screams could be captured and bottled, they would be a shade of blood-curdling red that matched the sound he heard when she had first seen her dead brother's body.

That scream haunted his new nightmares. Since that day, the day the Dark Lord had fallen, Draco had suffered from cases of insomnia. He went days without sleeping, until he finally submitted in relief, too exhausted to dream.

On the nights he didn't sleep, he wrote letters to Ginny instead.

He'd sent her the first one because he had wondered if she was suffering from the same nightmares. The fact that she had replied back kept him writing to her. He didn't tell her about the trials his family was involved in; he didn't talk about the war, only both of their grief. Draco hadn't lost a brother, but he had been a cause of this war. He felt so guilty—not to be alive when others weren't, because, dammit, he deserved to be alive!—and grief-stricken, though he didn't know what he was grieving for. Maybe himself. Maybe his family.

He kept his identity secret from her because he was sure she would stop writing if she knew with whom she exchanged letters. Draco couldn't have that. Who else did he have to talk to? Pansy, who continued to hold a grudge? Blaise, who thought he was a bastard? There was no one, and he didn't want to speak to anyone anyway. He wanted to keep himself locked up in his room and hide in the dark.

After the first night home, when he'd dreamed of blood and fire and death, he'd woken up and immediately scoured his room for anything with a hint of the color red on it.

And then he'd thrown it out.

It was a good thing he and Ginny only exchanged letters, because if they had spoken in person, Draco didn't think he would be able to look at her.


	19. Happiness

_July 22, 2010  
400 words, according to OpenOffice word count.

* * *

_

Blaise remembered in third year when he and his housemates used to sit in the common room making fun of all the girls no one would ever want to date. They took turns impersonating Granger as she waved her hand around in the air, subsequently pretending to smack someone in the face. Ginny Weasley would never have a boyfriend, they had decided, because she would compare anyone who might ever be interested in her to Potter, and the poor blokes would always come up short. They made fun of Millicent's weight and Pansy's dog-like nose—no, not even the Slytherin girls were safe from their ridicule—and they made cross-eyed faces wondering what kind of loon would ever want to snog Loony Lovegood.

Blaise had come to the conclusion that thirteen-year-olds were stupid. He not only swallowed those words now, he also had the last laugh. As it turned out, Luna was a fantastic snogger.

"What is it?" she asked when he had been staring at her for longer than he'd intended. Her arms were still wrapped around his neck and it was quite obvious to the people who passed by that they had not come to Diagon Alley to shop.

"Nothing, nothing," he said.

He knew they were an odd couple.

There was Luna, with her fair hair and skin, her round eyes, the everlasting look of surprise on her face. And then there was him, dark where she was light, closed-lipped where she was blunt, prone to emotional outbursts where she was more likely to reign her emotions in. That didn't even include their difference in houses, which didn't even matter here in the middle of Diagon Alley, after the end of a war.

"It's not nothing," Luna replied, stroking his neck with her fingertips. "No something is nothing."

His fingers circled her wrists, pulling her arms down from his neck so he could hold her hands.

"I just... I didn't know if I would ever see you again."

She only smiled. It was a testament to the time they'd spent together and how much they'd rubbed off on each other that she didn't say something awkwardly honest.

"No use crying over spilled Gurdyroot infusion."

"I wouldn't cry over that anyway."

Luna ignored him. "We're together now."

"You're right," he said, kissing her lips softly, "and I've never been happier."


	20. Family

_July 23, 2010  
398 words, according to OpenOffice word count.

* * *

_The silence that pervaded the manor was awkward now that Draco's aunt Bellatrix was no longer around to break it. Even so, the tension still lingered and maybe had magnified with her absence.

The only sound to be heard was that of cutlery against china as the Malfoys shared their last meal together as a family. There were so many things Draco wanted to say, not only to cut through the tension in a way his knife couldn't, but also because he feared he would never get the chance to say them again.

After months of grueling trials, the public and the Ministry had finally gotten what they wanted. Lucius Malfoy would pay for his actions and allegiance during the war in a way that did not involve money. The only thing that had saved Draco and his mother from the same fate was the word of Harry Potter, which held a lot more sway after his defeat of the Dark Lord. His father could not have been saved, even if Potter had wanted to vouch for his character, and so he had been sentenced to fifty years in Azkaban.

Draco had always looked up to his father, had always tried to please him, but going to prison was not something he could admire. It was embarrassing. He had grown up being told to have pride in the Malfoy name, and for the person who had taught him that to defame their name in such a way was despicable.

Emotions warred within him as he thought of it. On one hand, he was embarrassed to have spoken so highly of his father in the past, when now people only associated him with a criminal. On the other hand, he was his _father_, and nothing would change that. Draco still wanted to please him. He still wanted to admire him.

As he had come to learn over the past few months, Narcissa was as strong as the steel in her eyes. Draco had never known how strong she actually was until the trials had started, and witnessing her strength made him want to carry some of her burden. His father was going to Azkaban, but they would still be a family. His mother would hold it together, while Draco worked to reconstruct their name.

It was the only way for them to survive, for the Malfoys to live on.


	21. Divorce

_July 31, 2010  
400 words, according to OpenOffice word count._

* * *

It's not that Ginny didn't _like_ Harry. She just didn't see herself marrying him anymore, not like she'd dreamed when she was a little girl. It seemed as though no one could understand that, though. He was Harry Potter! Who wouldn't want to marry him? He was the kind of boy any parent would be proud to call their son-in-law, her own parents included.

But Ginny didn't want to marry him. Not today, not tomorrow, not any day of her life. She didn't even want to date him. Her love for him had shriveled up when he had broken up with her at Dumbledore's funeral, and it died a year later when he refused her offer of assistance and support for the greater cause, to help him as an equal, rather than as a useless girlfriend in need of protection. She refused to be repressed by anyone, even Harry Potter.

"I don't understand," he said, looking thoroughly confused. The rest of her family had stopped talking to watch their interaction, and Ginny resented him for bringing the subject up during dinner.

"I don't want to have lunch with you. What's not to understand?"

"Ginny! Don't be rude!" Mrs. Weasley interjected disapprovingly.

Suddenly Ginny's stomach lurched at the thought of finishing a meal. She may have only been seventeen years old, but she was old enough to handle her own business. The glower on her face as she lowered her fork frightened her brothers and father into continuing with supper as if nothing were happening, but her mum was quite unaffected.

"Is... is there someone else?" Harry asked tentatively. Her demeanor softened. She knew that he truly cared for her, but she didn't want his fear for the lives of the people he loved to control her. She deserved better than that.

If Ginny was absolutely honest with Harry, she would tell him that there was no one else, that she was not a damsel in distress to satisfy his hero complex. This had nothing to do with Draco, who she hadn't seen since the battle over two months ago, but she would tell Harry what he didn't want to hear so that maybe he would finally accept that she didn't want to be with him anymore and divorce her from his life.

It was the only way to force him to stop pursuing her.

"Yes. There's someone else," she said.


	22. Flying

_August 1, 2010  
400 words, according to OpenOffice word count.

* * *

_

It's strange how quickly time passed once the war ended. Before Harry's defeat of Voldemort, the years had started slowing down, and then the weeks and days. Like a wind-up watch nearly in need of winding. The Battle of Hogwarts was the pinnacle of the slowing, the moment in history when everyone would have agreed that time had finally stopped moving. And then the Dark Lord was destroyed and his presence no longer lingered over the country.

Time woke up from its brief nap and began to run, slowly at first—it was out of practice, you see, running at full-speed—but as the days passed, and then the weeks, time verily flew.

In a blink, it was gone.

With Kingsley Shacklebolt as the new Minister of Magic, the wizarding world was ready to take on the challenge of rebuilding after the Voldemort regime. Throughout July and August, volunteers helped to restore the Hogwarts castle to its former glory, and the school opened its doors again in September. Ginny, of course, went back to school, but what no one expected was for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to return as well. They'd been offered jobs by the Ministry and turned them down—Hermione refused to have a life until she sat her NEWTs, Harry was reluctant to leave the only home he'd ever known, and Ron couldn't imagine what he'd do with himself if both of his friends left him for school.

Luna and Blaise had also returned and could be caught canoodling in dark corners of certain corridors. Ginny had even run into Pansy Parkinson at one point, and all she could think about was the night she'd peeked in on Parkinson trying to snog an impassive Draco.

As for Draco, she hadn't seen him in the corridors, at meals, or in the castle at all. He must have accepted the previous year run by Death Eaters as his final one and moved on.

A part of her was disappointed. Another part of her was angry at herself for caring.

It was a strangely calm year. There were no possessed diaries wreaking havoc in the castle, no mass murderers on the loose, no ancient international tournaments, no interference from the Ministry, no Death Eaters.

Even though life had become rather boring all of a sudden, time flew by. Before anyone realized it, a year had come and gone, swiftly and quite without warning.


	23. Drowning

_August 3, 2010_  
_389 words, according to OpenOffice word count._

* * *

If Ginny wasn't so familiar with poverty and tired of having hand-me-down belongings, she never would have agreed to nanny Victoire five days a week while Bill and Fleur were at work. Babysitting her brother's darling daughter was not quite the career she had had in mind when she had finished her final year at Hogwarts, but, as she very well knew, beggars can't be choosers, and Fleur insisted she have a nice fee at the end of every week that almost-but-not-quite made up for the disasters.

She tried to tell herself that the money was worth the trouble.

Coming from such a large, children-loving family, Ginny would have thought taking care of a baby would be no problem. But for the past four months, she had been drowning in dirty nappies and tears—some of which she had shed herself. Children, she had decided, were not for her. Not babies anyway. Every evening when Fleur and Bill returned to Shell Cottage, Ginny passed a snot-nosed Victoire into her parents' arms and fled back home to recover before returning again in the morning.

Her aversion to children baffled and distressed her mother, and quite took Ginny by surprise. She'd never really thought of herself having children before—only her vague daydreams of a Potter family as a little girl—so she hadn't realized that she might _not_ want to procreate until she was thrust into a parenting role.

But it was still soon yet. She might change her mind later, after she was married to a man she loved and would be willing to do anything for, one who might convince her to have a houseful of babies. That's what Mrs. Weasley kept telling her, anyway. For now, though, Ginny just wanted to be able to support herself, and help take some of the burden off of her parents.

She'd earned enough money watching Victoire to open her own account at Gringotts, and soon the gold began to stack. Ginny made it a ritual every weekend to make a trip to Diagon Alley to deposit her pay for the week, usually staying a little longer than a normal person would, to stare at her money and run her fingers through the coins.

They were mild savings, but compared to what she'd had before, she felt as if she were drowning in riches.


	24. Bed

_August 3, 2010_  
_395 words, according to OpenOffice word count._

* * *

It was ironic how Draco had to strip away his pride in order to gain it back. Instead of returning to Hogwarts to retake his seventh-year classes, his priority had been to undo the damage his father had done, no matter the cost. In order to pay a visit to Arthur Weasley and ask him if he knew of a job available for him, Draco had to pack up his pride and store it on a shelf. It stung him bitterly to stoop so low as to ask a Weasley for help, but it had to be done.

The job he'd received had been the one he had expected—and hoped desperately would be unavailable. For the past year, he had scrubbed toilets, emptied trash cans, swept, dusted, mopped, shined statues, and emptied Floo grates. Today he'd advanced to learning how to change the enchanted windows. The spells were trickier than he'd imagined, and instead of changing the starry night to a beautiful, cloudless day, he'd created a rainstorm inside Auror Headquarters. Potter and Weasley (Ronald, not Ginevra) had been present to witness his embarrassment, but Draco had not looked at either of them, doubly embarrassed as he was for what they had all done for each other during the war. If it hadn't been for Potter, Draco would either be dead or in prison.

Never mind the embarrassment though. By the time another custodian had come along, everyone in the office had been drenched, including Draco. He'd come down sick from it and now lay at home in bed, sniffling and coughing as his mother fed him soup.

"Oh, my darling. You work so hard," she said, after which Draco sneezed mightily. He knew how she felt about his working. Time and time again, she had begged him to quit his job. They would find another way to restore their family's honor, a more dignified way.

"I have to," he replied, his voice nasal. "I have to show them we're not... they have to know... she has to know. We're not... we're not..."

His words faded and his teeth chattered. Narcissa gave the soup to a house-elf to return to the kitchen and then reached for a vial of Pepper-Up Potion to rid him of the fever. He drank and then his eyelids fluttered closed, and with another murmur of "We're not," he fell asleep.


	25. Balloon

_August 3, 2010_  
_399 words, according to OpenOffice word count._

* * *

Diagon Alley had a renewed vigour that had been missing for more than two years. Everything seemed more colorful and vibrant and happier. People crowded the streets once again, the blistering cold doing nothing to dampen their good spirits.

Draco wandered out of the Leaky Cauldron, tightening the scarf around his neck. It felt good not only to stretch his legs, but to be around people. He hadn't reconnected with any of his old Slytherin friends after the war, and at the Ministry he only saw the dour expressions of work-weary individuals, many of which still sneered at him as if he were scum, while he mopped up the coffee they had spilled.

He'd grown quieter as a result.

But he missed the days when he could pick a fight with Potter—days when the most severe punishment he feared was detention. He missed having the respect of his peers, having an audience when he spoke, making a joke (usually at someone else's expense) and hearing people laugh. He loved his mum, but he wanted more than she could give.

He was also angry. With everyone. With his father for messing up what they had had. With society for turning against the Malfoys, for looking down on them like they were criminals, for not understanding what Draco had gone through during the war, how he had had no choice. Life in this new colorful world was so unfair.

"Excuse me," a voice said, interrupting his brooding.

Draco looked up from his feet to see a little girl bundled in thick robes and a matching cloak, black boots adorning her tiny feet. The scarf around her neck obscured half of her face, muffling her voice, and in one of her mitten-ed hands she clung tightly to a string to which was tied a bright red balloon.

"What is it?" Draco asked gruffly, wincing slightly after the words slipped out. The girl didn't seem phased by his harshness, just held the balloon out to him and stared at him with wide blue eyes.

"You looked sad. Would you like a balloon? They make me happy when _I'm_ sad," she said.

He stared back at her for a few moments, wondering at the kindness of children.

"Thank you," he said as he accepted it.

She skipped away, back into the bustling crowd.

He kept the balloon until it deflated.


	26. Compressed

_August 3, 2010_  
_400 words, according to OpenOffice word count._

* * *

Ginny grumbled to herself all the way from the Floo to the lift, annoyed at being turned into an errand girl when Ron was idiotic enough to leave his lunch at home. When the lift doors opened, she stormed out mindlessly, turning down the left corridor, as she had been instructed, and barging through the first door, as she had not.

It was very clear that she had gone wrong somewhere when Draco Malfoy shot up from the overturned bucket he'd been sitting on, wearing the navy blue robes of Magical Maintenance. What she wanted to do was apologize, back out of the doorway, and walk away—a long, long way away—but she was frozen in place, even as her face burned like fire.

After a startled moment of silence, Draco said, "So! Come to have a laugh, have you?"

"W-what?"

"It took you long enough. How long's it been? A year and a half, right?" He sneered.

"A year and half since _what_?" she asked, still bewildered by these turn of events.

He grabbed her arm and yanked her into what she now recognized as a broom closet and slammed the door shut behind her.

"I'm sure your dad told you all about how I begged him for a job, and now I clean toilets after people take a shit."

"I didn't know anything about that!" she cried in outrage. He'd backed her up against the door, compressing her against the hard surface. She was painfully aware of every inch of him, and remembered clearly the last time she'd seen him, spoken to him, the last news she'd heard of him.

It hurt her in more ways than one how strongly her heart was beating, as if _he_ was someone to be excited about, as if she _cared_ about him or something.

He pressed against her, one of his hands splayed next to her head and her eyes fluttered closed though she didn't know what to expect.

Then she was sprawled out on the floor, he having opened the door behind her.

"Don't ever come back here," he said, pulling the door closed.

She stared at the slab of wood in angry astonishment, her heart racing like a sprinter's.

Picking herself up, she yelled, "Yeah? Well, who cares about you anyway? Not me!" And then she stormed off to look for Ron.


	27. Reinvigorated

_August 17, 2010  
400 words according to OpenOffice word count. I almost forgot that there was a prompt. XD  


* * *

_

Goosebumps popped up all over Ginny's skin with the release of a breath, even though the night was warm and a sticky. Her fingers lightly traced the path of her tears, checking for their existence rather than wiping them away.

She had come back to the Burrow for a reason, but she hadn't been able to force herself to go inside. She would have broken down anyway, as soon as she saw her brother's face. Hoping that her controlled breathing would quell the tide of more tears, she inhaled deeply. She couldn't imagine how George must be feeling on his second birthday without his twin. There was never one without the other, never a George without a Fred, but not anymore. With Fred gone, George looked lopsided.

Ginny jumped when the door creaked open and rushed to dry her tears.

"Have you been out here all this time?" George asked.

She spun around, her spine cracking from the movement, and there he was, a thin smile on his face and an obvious hole in the air beside him.

"You mean since I got here twenty minutes ago? Maybe." She tried to sniff delicately, but George saw through her and sat down on the step beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "I don't know how you do it," she continued. "How do you celebrate without Fred?"

His eyes fell to his shoes, his lips puckering as if in thought.

"Wreak havoc."

"What?"

"You know, set off some fireworks, throw some Dungbombs, set off a couple Portable Swamps."

"In memoriam," she said quietly, her eyes filling with stupid tears once more. When she blinked, they spilled over.

George shook her shoulders. "Come on, Gin! Why the tears? You know how much Fred hated to see you cry."

A laugh fell out of her mouth even though laughing was the last thing she wanted to do. Her lips trembled as she made a futile gesture to wipe the moisture off her cheeks.

Suddenly, George stood up and reached a hand down to her. "You're not staying out here all night. It's my _birthday_!"

She wiped her eyes and running nose, her talk with her brother reinvigorating her more than the shed tears.

"Besides," he said seriously. "You're not going to want to miss Mum's face when the cake explodes."


	28. Spilt Milk

_August 17, 2010  
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count.  
__Warning for naughty language. :P

* * *

_

Anger boiled in his blood, coursing through his veins faster than a potion, faster than anything he'd ever felt or experienced before. It took all of his will power to keep the broom in his hand from smashing against Livingston's face, wand be damned.

"Well, Malfoy? We don't pay you to just stand there, now do we?" Livingston said, his lips turned up in such amusement, you would think he and Draco were old friends. He slapped his mate's shoulder next to him and guffawed. "It's hilarious to think it—ha, ha, ha—a Malfoy is going to clean up after _me_, but it's really the only place for them, isn't it?"

Draco had too much dignity to take this shite. He was a _Malfoy. _For Merlin's fucking sake.

"I'm not cleaning that up," he said, his grip on the broomstick so tight, the wood would have suffocated if it had had the life to.

"No?" Livingston had this annoying way of talking in questions that Draco had loathed since he had begun working at the Floo Network Authority a few months ago. Livingston had found it so amusing that a Malfoy worked for Magical Maintenance and had taken advantage of Draco's inferior position as often as he could.

"No?" he said again. "I've spilled my milk, Malfoy, and I put in a work order to have it mopped up, didn't I? So you'll clean it up, because that's your job and that's all you are good for, won't you?"

"You fucking poured that out right in front of me, and I'm not cleaning it up," Draco said.

Livingston stood up from his desk, his face crumpled into an ugly expression of anger, but Draco didn't back down.

"Your daddy isn't here to pay me off. If you don't show me some respect and do as I say—"

"You'll what? I'm not going to clean up your damn milk, nor anyone else's. I fucking quit!"

Draco threw the broom on the ground, a surge of magic forming spiderweb-like cracks in the floor.

What he had wanted to do was smash Livingston's head in, but he was still trying to rebuild his family's image and figured such an action would be frowned upon. Instead, he marched to the lift, exited at the Atrium, Floo'd home, and then crawled into his bed and slept.


	29. Contempt

_September 1, 2010  
400 words, according to OpenOffice word count.  
__Oh man. I'm updating._

_

* * *

_

"I refuse to ask that git for help!" Ron cried upon receiving his assignment. Harry nudged him with his elbow in warning, and even though he felt the exact same way, he knew better than to disobey his superior so baldly.

And indeed, their commanding officer did not take kindly to such a blatant display of disrespect. His mouth tightened in disapproval, while the sudden crease in his brow alerted Harry to his simmering anger.

"Unfortunately for you, Weasley, you are in no position to refuse. If you want to be an Auror, you will get Malfoy to help us in this investigation. If that is too difficult for you, or if it's beneath you, you know where the door is, and you'll have wasted not only the last two years of your life, but mine as well."

With that, he stormed out of the office, and both Harry and Ron wondered at his confidence to leave so quickly, as if knowing Ron would give in and complete the assignment as instructed.

"Harry, I hate that git! I thought leaving Hogwarts meant we wouldn't have to deal with him anymore!"

"I know. Me too. Did you really expect to become an Auror and never see the Malfoys again, though?"

Ron was pacing in agitation, but at this question, he stopped, looking at Harry with the resigned face of one whose duty was dangerous and grim.

"Do _you_ really think he'll help us?"

Harry honestly didn't know. Whenever Draco Malfoy came to mind, three scenes repeated in his head, flashing in rapid succession: Malfoy crying in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and his ultimate fate bleeding on the floor, Malfoy's wand lowering as Dumbledore tried to bargain for both of their lives, and then Malfoy in the Room of Requirement, in a frenzy to try and capture Harry or escape the ferocious flames alive.

Ron's contempt had not lessened in the years since they'd last seen Malfoy, but Harry had _seen_ his face, he'd witnessed his desperation, and he was willing to give him a small chance.

"There's only one way to find out," Harry replied.

Sighing in an exaggerated fashion, Ron took out his wand and said, "Well, let's pay a visit to the family we love to hate and beg them for help."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry said with a small smile.


	30. Acceptance

_September 1, 2010  
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count._

* * *

A house-elf tentatively entered Draco's room, claiming he had guests who wished to speak to him, and unable to get anything else out of the excitable elf, Draco followed him down to the drawing room.

Potter and Weasley sat in opposing armchairs, the former looking vaguely uncomfortable (understandable, considering the circumstances in which he had last departed from this very room), while the latter sat tense, his wand in hand and his eyes darting around suspiciously.

"What brings _you_ here?" Draco asked with a sneer.

They shared a look before Potter stood up. "Look, we're just as unhappy to be here as you are to have us, so let's just get this over with quickly and we can all move on with our lives."

Hearing those words out loud like that stunned Draco. For so long, he'd had the feeling that his life had been suspended, waiting for permission to continue, but he had never faced that notion so directly.

He took a seat on the sofa between the chairs, gesturing for Potter to sit back down.

"We need help with an investigation. A handful of Death Eaters have evaded capture for the past two years and we feel you might have information that could help us find them."

"Because I was branded with a Dark Mark, that means I would still be in contact with other Death Eaters, is that right?"

Weasley looked like he wanted to speak, but a glance from Potter held his tongue.

"It's not that at all. We just need the help, and you and your mum are the only people... available."

He meant not dead or in prison, of course.

Draco thought of people like the Carrows loose on the streets, biding their time until they could cause chaos once again, and he was already willing to help. For a price.

A part of him wondered what Ginny would think if she heard he was helping to catch Death Eaters.

"Will I get a fee? I lost my job earlier this month, you see," he replied.

After a moment of shocked staring, Potter said, "You can have anything you want!"

"Within reason," Weasley added.

"Then I accept," Draco said.

He would help capture Death Eaters, and then the Malfoy name would be accepted by society once again. And Ginny... she would accept him too.


	31. City

_September 5, 2010  
398 words, according to OpenOffice word count.  
__Just to warn you, I will be changing the name of this story from "100 Days, 100 Drabbles" to "Moments: a Story told in Drabbles"__. The current title is pretty sad._

_

* * *

_

There was something about the city that Ginny found soothing. Calming. In a place as large and busy as Muggle London, she found peace.

She liked to wander the streets alone, watching the Muggles go about their lives as if nothing catastrophic had happened to them in the last five years or so. A bridge had collapsed and a hurricane had devastated the West Country back in 1996, but those were accidents, of course—as far as the Muggles were concerned, anyway.

They didn't live with the same knowledge that she did, the same grief, the same guilt, the same emptiness that no amount of gold or babysitting could fill. This used to anger her, on her first forays into London, but now she found it refreshing. Life went on, and hers would too.

She missed Fred less every day. When she'd begun to realize this, she'd panicked. Her hands would shake uncontrollably when she thought of him and tears would spring to her eyes, though they were unwilling to fall.

As she thought of Fred less and less, she wondered about Draco more and more. It had been a shock to see him at the Ministry a few months ago, wearing the uniform of Magical Maintenance no less! She worried about him, about what his life had been like after the war. She wanted to know why he was working there, doing _that_ kind of a job.

She'd gotten over being angry at him for the way he'd treated her when she saw him. In hindsight, she could see how embarrassed he had been, and she couldn't blame him for feeling that way.

Shaking her head, Ginny stared at the lights radiating out of a pub, the noise of merry-makers almost infecting her with their drunken cheer. The night was warm, but not sticky. She watched a car drive by and jumped when it honked at her. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

The city was a like a foreign land. It made her feel otherworldly and different. She wasn't sure what Ginny Weasley was supposed to feel or think when she was here; in fact, here she was no one. She was another Muggle in the crowd. Another night walker looking for sleep. Another wanderer looking for answers in Muggle London's people and sounds and cars.

The city was a place to just be.


	32. Blue

_October 4, 2010  
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count.  
Omg. I'm updating again. Um, vague relation to the prompt is vague. Also, I lost the challenge! But the story goes on, as every story must. Until it ends, anyway. _:|

* * *

Draco had had reservations, a few of them, when Weasley and Potter had left his home a little less than a month ago with his consent to be interrogated, and to have his memories recorded. But for the first time since his disastrous sixth year, he felt useful, needed, and important. He was no longer wasting his life away cleaning up after people, being ridiculed for his work, and feeling like the inside of a toilet (shitty, that is). His contribution would help the post-war clean up. This was how he could restore his family's image, as well as make up for his mistake.

When he wasn't at the Ministry of Magic, he was in the manor library either reading or keeping up his correspondence with Ginny, though she still had no idea with whom she exchanged letters.

The book he currently found himself absorbed in was a history of wizarding genealogy; although it _was_ rather frightening just how many acquaintances he was related to in some way. It had not been necessary for him to know that he and the Potters shared blood. That was just... wrong.

"ARGH! What the hell!" he screamed, as he suddenly felt several sharp needles pierce his leg. He looked down to see what had attacked him and was shocked to see a tiny creature, more fluff than anything else, staring up at him with innocent, bright green eyes. "MOTHER!" Draco yelled, pulling his legs up into the chair, out of reach of the devious monster eying him hungrily. "MO-_THER_!"

"Darling, what is it?" Narcissa cried, rushing into the room with her hand pressed to her chest in worry.

"What is this—this—_thing_?" He gestured toward the creature, which had fallen over and was now rolling around on its back helplessly.

"It's a kitten, Draco. Isn't he gorgeous? I think it's a Russian Blue," she answered, smiling.

"I _see_ that. What is it doing here?"

She entered the room and picked up the kitten, offering it to Draco, who shook his head and cowered further into the chair.

"I found him in the garden this morning and couldn't bear to leave him there. His name is Lucius. I think I shall keep him," she said, rubbing her face into its dark gray fur. It mewed pitifully, but Draco wasn't fooled.

The thing wanted to eat him.


	33. Hear No Evil

_October 13, 2010  
400 words, according to OpenOffice.

* * *

_

Family dinners on Sunday evenings became a compulsory Weasley tradition when Ginny finally moved out of the Burrow. As such, the dinner table became loud and boisterous, laden with too much food and surrounded by too many people. Ginny often sat at the end of the table, with Harry, Ron, and Bill. They mostly spoke of work, though Ginny felt quite out of the loop, as the most exciting part of her own career was laying Victoire down to nap so Ginny could get a half hour rest, herself.

She hadn't been paying much attention, until she heard Draco's name.

"Malfoy is an Auror?" Bill asked, looking quite shocked.

"No," Harry corrected him. "He's more like a hired specialist. He gives us information about the Death Eaters we haven't caught yet."

Bill's face grew dark as he leaned in closer to Harry. Ginny and Ron automatically drew close as well.

"It's a little risky to pass that information around, don't you think? He could become a target if it got out that he's snitching."

Ginny's body stilled as that sank in, her mind racing at the possibility of Bill's words.

"Nah, don't worry about it," Ron said, waving his hand dismissively. Ginny's eyes drilled into Ron's forehead, her heart thumping angrily at his apparent lack compassion.

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "Malfoy offered himself up as bait. Word spreads that he's spilling Death Eater secrets, and the ones that are still hiding will come out of the woodwork to get rid of him."

"All Malfoy's idea," Ron chipped in. "Bloody brave of him to do it. I know we're training to fight these bastards, but damn, I certainly wouldn't want to wait around for them to attack me."

"What if something happens to him and the Death Eaters get away?" Bill asked.

Harry and Ron shared a look.

"It'd really be a shame."

"He could have made a good Auror, I reckon. If things had turned out differently."

"He's a bit uptight—"

"—but as determined to catch these Death Eaters as we are—"

"—and really not a bad bloke."

Ginny couldn't believe her ears. She'd only ever heard them speak evil words of Draco's misdeeds in the past. The world must be ending if Ron Weasley and Harry Potter had something good to say about Draco Malfoy.


	34. Heartless

_November 4, 2010  
395 words, according to OpenOffice word count.  
This one is dark, just to warn you. And there is no Draco/Ginny interaction in this one. Sorry. :(  
The narrator is NOT Draco or Lucius or anyone obvious. I'm not quite sure who it is yet, but it's definitely not anyone you're thinking of.  


* * *

_

He likes the horror in their eyes best. After the anger of finding a strange man in their house, after the fear that they might be hurt in a robbery, after the utter disbelief when he blows up their disgustingly Muggle belongings with a wand...

Then the horror.

They no longer doubt that they are going to get hurt. They're going to die, and there's nothing they can do because he has a power that they hadn't believed existed.

That's what made it exciting.

He laughs in the face of their terror, as they try to run from him. As if they could escape! As if they could hide! Some of them don't run, and he doesn't enjoy killing them as much as he enjoys the others. There's something about chasing them that makes his heart race so fast—so fast, he's almost concerned that he will die. But he can't die! Unlike the Dark Lord, _he_ survived. Fate smiled down on him, blessing him with power and the inability to die.

He uses his power to pass judgment on Muggles.

But yes... the ones that don't flee from him. If there's one thing about those Muggles that thrills him, it's breaking them. He makes sure they know exactly who is in charge, who has the power. He wipes that courageous glare right off their faces, and then uses the walls to clean his hands of their blood.

The ones who run tend to die quickly, and not because he's sparing them from suffering. He chases them, his excitement escalating at the same rate as their fear, and when both emotions reach their climax, he releases everything, unable to reign himself in, blind with carnal fervor. He's panting when he comes down from the high and realizes that his toy has died. He's a little disappointed then, but it passes. There are so many other Muggles in the world whose deaths he can savor.

When he was a child, he used to kill the neighbors' cats. He'd discovered the rush of taking a life and had craved the feeling ever since then. His mother found him once, giggling, covered in the blood of a tabby. She had been so horrified that she couldn't say anything. And later, as she cleaned the blood off him in the bath, she cried and called him a heartless monster.


	35. Light

_December 22, 2010  
386 words, according to OpenOffice word count._

* * *

Ginny stumbled into her flat unaware of the time, just knowing that it was late—too late for her to be out alone. She hadn't started her evening by herself, but as the hours had dwindled, more of her friends had drifted away, off to other parties, off to put children to bed, off to their own quiet homes, as if the fun was too much for them.

They were such party poopers.

Ginny locked the door to her flat and didn't notice anything different at first, but turning around and facing the darkness in the room, she stopped, blinking through the alcohol clogging her mind to make sense of what she saw.

She saw nothing. Just blackness. Not a single light lit the room, and she could tell by the darkness of the hallway that the entire flat was equally as dark.

She rushed to the fireplace and fumbled with her dress as she tried to find her wand, her movements frantic and panicky. She only calmed down after a fire was happily crackling in the grate, encasing the room in its warm light.

Dropping into a chair, Ginny sighed in relief.

She was fine during the day. She could make herself smile, laugh, take care of Victoire and Dominique, and for all intents and purposes _look normal_. But when she got home? That was another story. She hadn't forgotten the war, hadn't forgotten all the people she had lost, hadn't forgotten the part of herself that had been taken from her by the Carrows.

Two years had passed, but sometimes it still felt like a new wound, all sticky with blood and stinging. And for the past two years, she had always kept a light on somewhere in her room at the Burrow, or, now, here in her flat. To come home and find the place in darkness... She wasn't ready for that. She wasn't ready for the secrets and truth that hid in the dark. She felt comforted sleeping with a light on, like a ward against an uncertain future and a past that was too grim to contemplate.

But she was fine now. She was home, drunk, and comfortable in a chair, the heat and light from the fire warming her from the inside out.

She fell asleep and didn't dream at all.


	36. Obvious

_April 9, 2011  
382 words, according to Microsoft Word word count._  
_I PROMISE, I PROMISE, I PROMISE that a Draco/Ginny arc is coming up. D: There's no Ginny in this one, but in two or three drabbles, we will see them together again! Promise! You may flay me if it doesn't happen.  
_

* * *

Draco wandered aimlessly down Diagon Alley, staring blindly into shop windows as if he was interested in the wares, when in actuality he didn't notice them at all. He'd made it a habit to make himself public and accessible a few times a week. It was a ploy, part of the plan he had hatched with Potter and Weasley. The rumors of his snitching had spread like wildfire. Now all he needed was for the Death Eaters at large to take the bait and come after him.

But since the rumor had spread, things had been quiet—too quiet. Draco was beginning to think the plan was too obvious. The remaining Death Eaters must have seen right through the trap.

He sighed, wondering why he was putting his life on the line like this. As the weeks passed, he became more fearful, more jumpy and paranoid. At any moment, he could be killed or kidnapped. The Death Eaters wouldn't care how busy the street was. They wouldn't care about making a scene. He could very well be murdered in this crowd of people and no one would come to his aid because he was a man with a broken and hated family name, because, according to the newest rumors, he was a coward who would sell out his own "friends" to guarantee his safety, and there was no room for cowards in the wizarding world anymore. The Death Eaters could very easily kill him and evade capture, just as they had these past two years, and what would Draco's death _be_ for then? What was he fighting for?

It wasn't very obvious sometimes. Goals of winning the public's support, rebuilding his family's name, and obtaining Ginny swirled around inside him, changing in priority every now and then. He didn't know what was important anymore, or why he even bothered. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Ginny or written her one of his anonymous letters. And his other goals often seemed like more than he could handle.

But, he supposed, that was exactly why he had proposed this plan. If it succeeded, he was one step closer to his goals, and if he failed… the uncertainty, the suffering, and the guilt would finally end.

Obviously he had a death wish.


	37. Archaic

_June 10, 2013  
394 words according to Open Office word count.  
I've been stuck on this drabble for two years and I think it shows. Oh well. At least it's over. Moving on with the story!_

* * *

Ginny sighed deep and looked away from the window. It was impossible to see through the rain on the glass, but she hadn't noticed in her deep contemplation.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"Hm?"

"You've been staring outside for the last twenty minutes. What's wrong?"

"Just writing a letter." Ginny sighed again, this time in frustration. She hadn't heard from her pen friend in weeks, and she was starting to worry. As she considered what to write, she tapped her quill on the parchment, never noticing the ink blots she left behind.

After a moment of silence, Hermione asked, "Do you fancy him?"

"What?"

"Whoever you've been writing to. Are you...courting?"

Laughter erupted from Ginny's mouth, startling both women.

"That's a bit archaic, don't you think?"

Hermione shrugged. "We've all noticed. What you're like when you receive a letter? The relief on your face? It's obvious you care for this person."

"It's not like that! I don't even know his name," Ginny said. "But I suppose I do care. He's helped me through this whole mess."

"Which mess?"

"The war! Everything since the war." Ginny sighed for the third time. "From his last letters, it seems like he's the one suffering now, and I don't know how to help."

Hermione put her hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Just ask him. Ask him what his name is. Ask him how you can help. Are you willing to meet with him in person?"

"Yes," she answered in surprise. "I think I am."

"Well, I wouldn't advise it. What do you really know about him? What are his intentions? Wait a minute, how did this correspondence start?"

While Hermione continued her rant about the dangers of meeting strangers in this new safe-but-not-_that_-safe world, Ginny dipped her quill into her pot of ink and wrote:

_Look, we've been writing letters to each other for over two years. I want to know who you are. I want to thank you, in person, for always being there for me. And most of all, I want to be there for you too._

_What do you say?_

She sent her owl off into the rain and watched from behind the blurry glass until it disappeared from sight.

She pretended she didn't care about the answer.

* * *

_And now let me take a moment to announce that the DG Forum! here on FFN is hosting a DG fic exchange! Signups/prompt submissions are open until June 14th. If writing isn't your thing, I hope you'll keep an eye on us in the next few weeks to read and review stories and vote for your favorites!_


	38. Home

_June 19, 2013  
398 words according to OpenOffice word count._

* * *

Narcissa idly scratched Lucius's head as she waited for Draco to come home. The kitten purred, his eyes falling shut as mistress and pet rocked in the chair that had become their post.

She had been displeased with Draco's notions of employment, especially the kind of employment he'd received, and although she should have been relieved that he'd left Magical Maintenance, the heaviness in her heart only grew. Her days were now filled with waiting. Draco was all she had left in the world, and everyday that he stepped foot outside the manor, more of her strength left with him. She wasn't an old woman, but she felt feeble thanks to the constant worry.

Draco's baiting for escaped Death Eaters was a fool's errand—one that would most certainly lead to his death. She understood his thirst for their old esteem and glory, and she understood why he had volunteered for this suicide mission. She only wished he thought more of himself—and, yes, more of her—to try and keep himself alive. What good was Malfoy honor if Naricssa lost the last remaining member of her family?

When Draco entered the parlor, he froze as if he hadn't expected to see Narcissa there. Lucius lifted his head and yawned in Draco's direction.

Before he darted back out the door, she called, "Son?"

He knew his duty and sat down in the chair beside her, reaching for her cold hand to hold in both of his. Seeing the question in her eyes, he shook his head, and in response, she let out the breath she'd been holding since he'd left the manor early that afternoon.

"It shouldn't be too much longer, Mother," Draco said wearily. He'd grown pale and gaunt, and she knew he was having trouble sleeping. She remembered how Draco had looked after his sixth year at Hogwarts and hated the similarities in his appearance now.

Narcissa stroked his face with her free hand, but it fell when his expression shuttered, becoming distant. Cold. "That's what I'm afraid of," she choked out.

He stood and left the room, but she knew it was to protect himself from catching her fear. She saw the tell-tale glitter in his eyes the moment before he drew away from her.

She returned her hand to Lucius's fur, momentarily at peace. Another day had passed, and Draco was home. For now.


	39. Fun and Games

_June 24, 2013_  
400 words exactly, according to OpenOffice word count.

* * *

Ginny's letter sat on his desk taunting him. It was a gamble, and Draco was tempted to make it.

To meet her... or not to meet her?

It was all fun and games until her expectations were shattered and the only person he could rely on—anonymously—turned her back on him.

It could only end badly. She'd made it very clear three years ago that she never wanted to speak to him again. They hadn't quite hit it off in that broom closet at the Ministry a year or so back either.

What had he expected would happen? That she'd be content continuing to send him letters—highly personal letters, in fact—without any thought of the person to whom she wrote? That she wouldn't mind telling this faceless correspondent about her pain, grief, and anger over the past years? He knew things about her that he suspected none of her family or friends did. She couldn't face the darkness, so she slept with a light on to combat her nightmares. She still cried for her dead brother. A deeply hidden part of her resented Potter and her whole family for not suffering as she did.

She never named them, but he could guess who she wrote about. That was part of the game. It wasn't that much fun.

He told her about his conflicting emotions concerning his absent father. Granted, he let her believe that his father had died during the war. He told her about how much he worried for his mother, how hard it was to take care of her when he cared so little about anything. He'd even shown a bit of his Gryffindor side and told her that sometimes her letters were the only things worth getting out of bed for. Instead of chastising him for his aloofness towards his living mother, she'd expressed how her feelings harmonized with his.

She was a comfort that warmed him when he thought of her, but he needed physical comfort as well. He couldn't bring himself to accept it from his mother. She didn't understand what he was going through, but Ginny was in accordance with him. Every thought, every feeling. He hated his weakness, but he knew that together they could be strong.

When he replied to her letter, he was full of doubt, but he couldn't look backwards any longer. All the games had to stop.


	40. Clothes

_June 30, 2013_**  
**_394 words, according to OpenOffice word count._

* * *

Ginny glanced back at the mirror one more time, but, just as she'd thought, her makeup hadn't smeared in the last thirty seconds. Standing straight, she twisted her torso in front of the mirror, checking every angle for imperfections.

Her clothes were fine. Everything was fine. She needed to stop worrying or the nerves would devour her before she got out the door.

"Luna?" Ginny said to her reflection, a panicked, begging note in her voice.

Luna came up behind her and placed her fingers on Ginny's temples.

"You look great, Ginny. It will be fine. Just trust him."

Ginny scoffed. "How do I do that? We've never met!"

"But you know him, don't you? Tell me about him."

As Luna rubbed Ginny's temples, she closed her eyes and recited, "He cares for his mother. He lost his father during the war. He's in pain, and no one understands him. Like me. Just like me."

"Keep going."

"He's sarcastic and biting, but what you see is what you get. No apologies for what he says. He's sincere, but emotions make him uncomfortable. But he bears them. For me."

"What else?"

"He'll be wearing a green coat, a black wool scarf, and gloves."

Luna lowered her hands. "There. You see?"

"Yes. I do."

With one last glance in the mirror, Ginny hugged Luna and bounded out the door, Apparating to Hogsmeade as they'd agree. She was a little early, so she took up a post at the corner of the Three Broomsticks. As she waited, she couldn't help but tug at her dress, the fingers of her gloves, the buttons on her coat. She felt like a third year on a Hogsmeade break from the castle.

Every flash of green caught her eye, but the scarf was always wrong, the gloves missing. Until...

Near Honeydukes, a man in a green coat, a black scarf, and gloves walked towards her. The flash of his platinum blond hair was the giveaway, and the sight of him took her breath away. Tears sprang to her eyes as all of her hopes from the past few years came crashing down around her.

Anyone but _him_.

However, before she could analyze her feelings in more detail, the part of the street Draco Malfoy had been occupying erupted in fire.


	41. Servant

_July 4, 2013  
399 words, according to OpenOffice word count. Reviews appreciated!_

* * *

Ginny had to tell a partial lie to get into Draco's hospital room.

"He's my friend," she'd said, and just as the Healer was about to turn her away, Narcissa Malfoy showed up and insisted Ginny be let through.

Still in shock, Ginny now sat in a chair next to Draco's hospital bed, chewing her thumb nervously as she tried to ignore his quiet conversation with his mother.

"Now, I'll give you two a moment," Narcissa said before standing gracefully and leaving the room.

She and Draco avoided looking at each other until the silence became unbearable, and all of Ginny's questions filled her to the brim.

"Explain," she said, glaring at a suspicious rust-colored spot on the wall on the other side of the room.

Draco shook his head. "What? Why I was attacked in the middle of Hogsmeade? Or why I've been the one sending you letters for the last two years?"

"I know why you were attacked. Harry and Ron told me." Now Ginny turned her glare to Draco. "Why did you do it?"

She could see his own temper rising, though she wasn't sure what he had to be angry about. She deserved answers, and she deserved to hear them from him.

"I've made myself a servant to many people in my life, and there are some things from which I cannot detach myself. My family is one of those things. I'll do anything for my mother, even if I have to sacrifice my own well-being for hers." His eyes shone with a determination Ginny recognized from their letters. Luna had been right. Ginny did know him.

"What would your death have achieved?" she asked through clenched teeth. Her heart ached for the man in front of her, and in response, tears sprang to her eyes. She refused to let them fall because she knew he would see them as pity, and he didn't deserve pity. No one who had been a slave to the war deserved such an emotion.

"I'd hoped it would catch the world's attention," he replied. "I'd hoped it would catch yours."

Ginny's heart raced and broke at the same time.

She reached out to take his hand, and he tentatively gave it to her, though he stared at their clasped fingers with a look of consternation. "Well," she said softly, "you've caught it. Now what will you do with it?"


	42. Roots

_July 10, 2013_  
_400 words, according to OpenOffice word count._

* * *

In the days that followed Draco's release from St. Mungo's he and Ginny went back to their roots.

They were wary around each other for a while. Draco felt ridiculous for the things he'd said to her—too weak, too emotional—and he feared her pity or even her derision more than anything else. As far as he could tell, she was being tentative with her trust, just as she'd been when they'd first become allies at Hogwarts during the war. Because of their mistrust and awkwardness, they never talked about their letters. They were too personal, and the wounds, though they had been healing when they'd been anonymous friends, still ached.

"You really didn't know that your father got me the job at Magical Maintenance?" Draco asked her four days after his release. They were walking in the public park that had been erected as a memorial to the war, and Ginny stopped next to a sapling still learning to grow.

"No, he never said anything."

That flummoxed Draco. "Why did he do it?"

"Because he's a decent man, Malfoy," Ginny replied defensively. "My family isn't out to humiliate yours. We just do what we think is right."

"And mine doesn't?" Draco seethed, but he heard the lie. His family had only done what was best for the Malfoys. Once upon a time, it hadn't mattered who got trampled by their ambition.

But things had changed. Circumstances, life, the world—everything had changed, and now Draco wanted to do what was best for his family _and_ right.

He wanted to dig up the old, dead roots and plant a new future for himself. He was just afraid that he needed Ginny Weasley's help to do that. What if she couldn't—or wouldn't—help him become a better man?

"We can change," he said.

Ginny gave him a shrewd look that Draco wanted to turn away from, but he'd taken the coward's way out his whole life. If he couldn't stand a glance from Ginny, how could he stand up to the scrutiny of the world?

She nodded, and he had the feeling that she had just sealed his fate. "I know we can."

"We?"

"No one is perfect, least of all me."

Draco sneered. "But you're a Weasley. You're not supposed to admit you have flaws."

Ginny smiled as her hands brushed against the sapling's leaves. "See? I'm already growing."


	43. Too Easy

_November 5, 2013  
381 words, according to Microsoft Word. My goal for this month is to add at least two more drabbles to this series, so here's the first of two! I'm hoping plenty more will follow._

* * *

"It was just too easy," Weasley said, echoing Draco's own thoughts. "That attack shouldn't have happened."

"Yeah, we're lucky Malfoy's alive," Potter added, also repeating one of Draco's pervasive thoughts.

"What do you expect us to do?" asked Stanley Parsefal, the head of Auror headquarters—and Potter and Weasley's commanding officer. "We can't have him tailed. That would be too obvious."

"Right," Weasley agreed, "that's the point. It was already obvious. Either someone leaked our plan or we weren't as clever as we thought."

"Maybe we underestimated our target," Potter suggested.

Draco listened as they voiced their opinions, his mind contemplating over the mission, the attack, and the aftermath. Whoever had set off the series of explosions in Hogsmeade had got away scot-free; no one had seen a thing. As Weasley said, it had just been too easy.

"What do you think, Malfoy?" he asked, pulling Draco out of his ruminations.

He'd been formulating a reluctant plan, but he knew Potter and Weasley wouldn't like it. However, they were out of options and desperate for a solution.

"We need help," he said, looking around the room at the Aurors staring back at him with distrust. Only Potter, Weasley, and Parselfal seemed to accept him—though it had been too easy how they'd accepted him since the attack.

"Whose help?" Parsefal asked gruffly. "We are the best equipped and trained to deal with these situations. I hope you're not suggesting we get the Muggles involved!"

"No, of course not," Draco replied, standing from the chair he'd been hiding in since he'd arrived at the meeting over an hour ago. Now he commanded everyone's attention. "As far as we know, Muggles haven't been attacked. It would be ridiculous to involve them."

"Then who?" asked Potter.

"Ginny."

"_What?_ What does my sister have to do with this?"

But Potter knew; Draco could see the comprehension in his eyes. "It has to be Ginny," he said. "If she'll help us."

"Of course she will," Draco answered. "It's in her nature."

Even if she suffered, she couldn't ignore people in need. Since they were targeting the very group of people who had hurt her at school, making her a more fragile version of herself, she would help. It would be all too easy to convince her.


	44. Insane

_November 11, 2013  
399 words, according to Google Drive._

* * *

"What are we doing here?" Ginny asked as Draco pulled out a chair for her.

"Eating," he answered.

"Okay, but why are we eating at such a fancy place?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You know I can't afford this."

Draco leaned closer, and laid his hand palm-up on the table. It only took her a moment to place hers in his. "I need your help."

"What is it?" she asked, fearing the worst because of the serious look on his face.

"We need to catch the people who attacked Hogsmeade, and I've come up with a way to do it."

"How?"

"We take the old plan and improve it."

Ginny bristled, already disliking what he was proposing. "And how does the plan improve?"

Maybe he didn't realize it, but his fingers clenched around hers, as if he, too, was afraid of the potential consequences. Good! At least he wasn't eagerly fulfilling a death wish anymore.

"If I was the target of the attack, then whoever was behind it won't be happy to see me survive. But if it looks like I'm moving on, trying to live a more fulfilling life, maybe the attackers will get angry enough to try again."

"That is insane logic," Ginny said, anger swelling up inside her, making her want to slap him for his flawed thinking. "That first plan nearly got you killed. How would this plan be different from the first?"

"You would be a part of it," he answered, looking haughty and cold, which, she realized from experience, was how he hid his emotions. She hadn't seen him look this chilly since that day she'd run into him at the Ministry in his Magical Maintenance uniform.

"Me?" she asked, curiosity staving off her anger.

"You. If I look like I'm happy with you, you would become a potential target, which might draw out whoever did this."

"You want me to be the bait," she repeated, deadpan, "so that someone will want to hurt me to get to you. That is utterly insane."

"I know. But it just might work."

Ginny deflated, her outrage dissipating. She squeezed Draco's hand, and he looked at her impassively, gauging her mood, her reaction.

"If you're insane for thinking it might work, then I must be insane for agreeing to go along with it," she said.

He smirked, and it almost looked like a smile.


	45. Clouds

_December 3, 2013  
390 words according to Google Drive._

* * *

When Harry climbed up the hill through the swaying grass, Ginny's stomach sank, but she didn't even blink. She pretended not to notice when he laid down next to her, his head too close to hers, his hands too obvious the way they rested on his stomach. Instead of greeting him, she continued to stare up at the fluffy white clouds that had kept her mesmerized for the past hour.

"That one looks a bit like a carrot, doesn't it?" Harry asked, pointing into the sky above.

"Mhmm," Ginny hummed.

He stayed silent for several minutes after that, not pushing her with conversation or glances or touches. When he did speak, he was somber but attempting indifference.

"How long have you and Malfoy been together?"

"We're not," Ginny replied with a snap. "You know why we're doing this."

"It's part of the plan," Harry agreed, "but there was something there long before we started this."

"No there wasn't," Ginny insisted, lifting herself onto her elbows to glare at him.

Harry's head turned to look at her. "Of course there was. That was the only way to make the plan convincing. It _had_ to be you, because Malfoy couldn't pretend to love someone else while he's in love with you."

In a moment of dramatic perfection, the carrot-shaped cloud crossed in front of the sun, casting a soft, carrot-shaped shadow over them.

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Because you don't believe me or because you don't want it to be true?"

Her heart thumped strangely, each powerful beat making her blood feel thick in her veins. "Well, of course it isn't true!" she cried, in a near panic now.

Harry laughed, and she punched him on the shoulder in response. His laughter died in his throat to be replaced with a surprised, "Ow, ow, ow! Okay, fine! Malfoy's not in love with you, and you're only faking a relationship in the service of your country. I get it!"

Ginny laid back down, her mind racing, her heart jumping. Minutes later, Harry got to his feet and said, "I know what it's like to want you, but I'll never know what it's like to be wanted by you again. Malfoy is a lucky git."

Then he left her there to contemplate the shapes of the clouds.


	46. Challenge

_December 5, 2013  
399 words according to Google Drive._

* * *

He spit on the picture in the newspaper, smearing the image of Draco Malfoy sitting in a restaurant with a pretty young woman. The photograph was in black and white, but he knew her hair was a flaming red color, though in recent years it had dulled to a faded orange, like a pumpkin rotting after Halloween.

He'd spent the last few weeks after the explosion hiding in the Muggle world, amusing himself with new victims helpless to his torture. One man hadn't been afraid. He'd pulled a gun on him, a fiery determination in his eyes that said, _I will not die tonight. Not at your hand or any other's_. He'd admired the man's confidence, but, as usual, fear had lit the Muggle's eyes once he realized his puny weapon would be useless against his adversary.

After a few weeks in the Muggle world, he'd finally gone after a witch, and the newspaper in her armchair had infuriated him to such a degree that he hadn't been able to control himself. She'd died faster than any of his previous victims, with an impersonal Avada to the heart. Pity.

The headline of the paper read, "Weasley Dating Malfoy?" and the picture showed Malfoy's face while obscuring hers, though it wasn't hard to guess who she was. The traitor Malfoy had a soft expression on his face as he looked at her, an almost smile, and he felt a surge of rage that the little rat was still alive.

The rage quickly turned into excitement. For some reason, Draco Malfoy's death was more of a challenge than he'd originally thought. It had been a long time since he'd had a challenge and never one as high profile as a Malfoy. Or a Weasley, for that matter.

His blood pumped in his veins, shooting adrenaline through his body. If Malfoy was dating a Weasley, he might become the darling of the wizarding world. The Weasley girl certainly was.

What would be a greater challenge than a Malfoy but a Malfoy and a Weasley? He'd killed lovers and families before, oh yes, but none of them had given him the kind of rush he felt now.

As he left the house, he tucked the newspaper into an inside pocket of his robes, the witch he'd murdered already forgotten inside.

Malfoy was taunting him with his life, but he would accept the challenge.


	47. Sight

_December 9, 2013  
379 words according to Google Drive._

* * *

Sometimes the sight of her baffled him. When Draco thought about the war and the things that both of them had suffered through and done, it never ceased to amaze him that either of them had survived, let alone both of them.

They'd survived in whole, but both of them were changed, tortured people because of the war. He knew that from the letters they'd sent each other through the years. She still had nightmares about not only losing her brother, but her whole family, too. She didn't like to be touched, though as weeks of their fake relationship passed, she learned to trust him again. Occasionally, they held hands; sometimes they kissed, but they never did what he longed to do and just hold her in his arms to assure himself that she was real and alive.

She didn't look the same. Her hair had shone like bright copper at school. In the three years since the war, her hair and freckles had dulled, the lines of sleeplessness under her eyes had been etched into her skin permanently, and her complexion had paled. Only the occasional but rare blush brought color back to her cheeks.

She was still beautiful to him. The sight of her still made him hold his breath and then release it in relief. They'd survived. And they were together. He didn't care that what they were doing wasn't real. Thanks to the plan, he had a reason to talk to her, to be seen with her, to occasionally hold her hands and—when she could bear it—to sometimes kiss her.

She had dulled, but she still warmed him in a way that nothing had after the war, not even his motivation to earn back his family's former glory. Not even his own mother's life.

His life had lost meaning until he'd tried to capture her attention, and now that he had it, even if it was only for a short time, he couldn't think of how to keep her. When this farce was over what would he do?

He was afraid of the day when the sight of her no longer gave his life meaning, but more than that, he was afraid that one day she would no longer be around for him to see.


End file.
